


feel at home

by ymorton



Category: Pod Save America (RPF)
Genre: Friends With Benefits, M/M, White House era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 14:47:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11061207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: lovett's leaving in six days. tommy's fine with it.i kinda feel like every podsa fic writer has to try their hand at a tommyjon white house era fic so UH HERE'S MINE. takes place in late august of 2011.





	feel at home

**Author's Note:**

> everything is fake and fictional and purely to distract me from the state of our country. please keep it all hush hush and do not show this to anyone involved. 
> 
> title from betty who's somebody like you (THANKS GRACE) 
> 
> come say hi on tumblr at podsavemysoul if you're COOL and STEALTH

They get burgers at BTS and eat them outside on the patio, even though it’s cooler inside and Tommy’s already soaked through his after-work t-shirt with sweat. He keeps expecting it to cool down as the afternoon wears into evening but it seems to get hotter, the air thickening and going still. Lovett complains about it incessantly, keeps dabbing his face with a napkin like a little old lady.

“I want ice cream,” he says, as they fall into step after dinner. “I was on my long-overdue unemployed tourist trip around DC today and I almost got one of those shitty ice cream bars from like, a little cart on the Mall, like I almost bought a Choco Taco. But then I thought, you know what? I should wait and make Tommy buy me ice cream.” 

Tommy laughs, palming sweat off his forehead. “You can buy your own ice cream, asshole.” 

“I’m unemployed!” 

“Yeah, not for long. Soon you’ll be rolling in Hollywood dough. And you used that excuse when you didn’t want to clean the bathroom last week.” 

Lovett sighs. “I’m gonna be broke and homeless and like, blowing producers just so they’ll look at my script.” 

Tommy elbows Lovett in the side. “You’re moving back here if it gets that bad.”  

“Don’t worry, I’m not hot enough to deal in sexual favors anyway.” Lovett sighs again. “Can you _please_ just keep my room open?” 

Tommy rolls his eyes. They’ve talked about this many times. Tommy is probably going to have to move or get another roommate. Lovett is probably going to have to deal with that. “Lovett-“ 

“Come onnnnn, Tommy. You can cover it-“ 

“I can’t cover it, actually. Not if I ever want to, like, buy property or have a family. I’m trying to save money, dude.” 

“Dip into the trust fund for once!” 

Tommy elbows him again and Lovett stumbles away, smacking his arm. “Why do you always think I have a fucking trust fund?” 

“Because your family made all that money in cotton and tobacco back in the 1700s?” 

“For the thousandth time, Lovett, my family didn’t own slaves.” 

“You don’t know that.” 

“Yes I do.” 

“Who told you that? I don’t believe it.” 

“My dad! He showed me our family tree when I was a kid. I’m Dutch, we were like merchants or some shit.” 

Lovett goes quiet, and Tommy chokes out a laugh. “Ah, he mentions the dead dad, and a hush falls over the crowd-” 

“No, it’s not that. I was just wondering how to politely say that your dad was 100% lying to protect sweet innocent little Tommy from knowing the sordid truth of his family’s history." 

Tommy lets out a surprised laugh. It sounds a little manic but it feels so good, like a release in his chest. “You fucking asshole.” 

Lovett grins at him sideways and Tommy slides an arm around his shoulders, hugging him close as they walk. “You think you’re so fucking funny, don’t you.” 

“I hope so. Funny enough to get a script deal.” 

Lovett won’t shut up about LA sometimes. Tommy gets it- Jon’s leaving in six days, so he fucking gets it - but he’s sick of it anyway. 

“It’s like a thousand degrees,” Lovett grumbles, but he’s not moving away, pressed against Tommy’s side. Tommy can feel the heat of him. “Don’t get a new roommate, Tommy. You’re gonna regret it."

Tommy could use some of his savings to cover Lovett’s share for a while, spend a little time living by himself. It’s not a _trust fund_ , he doesn’t have a fucking trust fund, but it’s a good amount.

“Maybe,” he concedes, and Lovett smiles against his shoulder. 

“There we go, Tommy. I want you to stew in loneliness and go into my room every night to light a candle for me. And when I come back to visit you’re like a full-on hoarder with six cats, and no one’s seen you in a while, and Favs is like, weeping, like _We needed you! Why did you leave?_ ” 

“You’re such a sadist.” 

“And you’re such a masochist, that’s why we’re such great roommates. Yin and yang.” Lovett slips out from under his arm, picking at the shoulder of his t-shirt and making a face. “Jesus, you sweated all over me. Sweat all over me? Swot?”

“Sweat if it’s literal sweating, sweated if it’s figurative,” Tommy says, laughing when Lovett rolls his eyes. 

“Okay, Professor. I’m the wordsmith here, I’ll make the grammatical decisions. You just keep writing vague statements and lying to reporters.”

“Lovett, shut the fuck up.” 

Jon grins at him and ducks his head. 

\---

They make it home just after dark, and Tommy’s barely locked the door behind them before Lovett’s disappearing into Tommy’s room, complaining about the heat. Lovett complaining has become background noise by now. 

Tommy follows him in, reaches over to flick on the A/C. 

“You don’t keep it on during the day?” Lovett says, screechy. He kicks off his jeans and flops onto Tommy’s bed. “Jesus, it’s a sauna in here. You could’ve at least turned it on after work.” 

“If you wanna keep bitching you can go sleep in your own room with your shitty little Bed Bath & Beyond fan."

Lovett grumbles into Tommy’s pillow but doesn’t move. 

“That’s what I thought,” Tommy says, laughing a little, stripping his shorts and his sweaty shirt off and tossing them into the hamper.  He knees onto the bed, touches the back of Lovett’s thigh, and Lovett gives a weak little shiver. “You going to bed?” 

Lovett turns his head to peer up at him. “Uh, no.” 

“I was about to say,” Tommy says. He strokes down to the back of Lovett’s knee. “You haven’t done anything today, there’s no reason you should be tired.” 

“I walked like six miles today!” 

Tommy swallows something hot in his throat and nudges Lovett’s legs apart with his knee, settling over one thigh and sliding a hand up his boxers til he can feel the soft flesh of his inner thigh. Lovett puts his head back down, letting out a rough breath. “Did you shower after?” 

Lovett nods. 

“I’m shocked,” Tommy laughs, dragging his boxers down his ass. Lovett squirms like he’s trying to kick them off, one leg flopping on the bed, and Tommy leaves them around his thighs. Lovett tries to open his legs and makes a frustrated sound against the pillow. “Stay still, Lovett.” 

“Don’t be a tease, _Tommy_. It’s too hot to tease. I could _die_ if I get overexerted.”

Tommy laughs again, feeling it in his chest. He starts to push Lovett’s shirt up and Lovett says, “Stop.” 

“What?” 

“Wanna keep it on,” Lovett says into the pillow. 

Tommy shrugs, and rolls Lovett over. His dick’s hard against his pale belly, t-shirt rucked up around his nipples, but he pulls it down as Tommy watches. 

“What?” he says, annoyed. 

Tommy tears his eyes away, reaches out for Lovett’s thighs and drags him down the bed, til he’s settling between them. “Nothing, dude. Can I blow you?” 

“Tommy, we’ve talked about this, you don’t need to ask for consent when we’re literally already naked in bed-” 

“Do you have to make everything difficult?” Tommy laughs. “Just answer the fucking question.”

Lovett glares at him. “That’s bullshit. I’m not the one who makes everything-” 

Tommy pushes Lovett’s thigh flat to the bed, opening him up wider. He doesn’t let up when Lovett’s muscles jump under his hand. “Jon.” 

“Yes,” Lovett says, breathless.

“Yes what?” 

“Oh my god.” He flops his head back, annoyed. “Tommy.” 

Tommy likes this so much. He has to duck his head to keep Lovett from seeing him smile. “Tell me what I can do.” 

“You can put my dick in your mouth and shut the fuck up,” Lovett says, voice faltering when Tommy leans down and breathes against the head of his cock. “Oh- Jesus. Like- if you fucking knew how you looked down there, Tommy, oh my god, that’s so- stupid hot, like-”  


Tommy looks up at him, breathing a laugh, and Lovett props himself up on his elbow and puts a hand in Tommy’s hair. 

“C’mon,” he says, pushing him down. “You can blow me. You better fucking blow me- _oh_ , God.” 

Tommy holds him still as he sucks him off, spreading his palms against Lovett’s hips, having to work at it sometimes when Lovett struggles under his hands. It’s worth it, though, because sometimes when Tommy holds him down Lovett shuts up and starts making these breathless desperate sounds, high in his throat. Tommy fucking lives for those sounds.

But before they can get there, Lovett pulls his hair _hard_. Tommy lifts his head.

“What?”  
  
“C’mon, fuck me,” Lovett says, throat flushed, eyes dark. “Enough with the oral foreplay, we get it, you’re a nice guy.”

Tommy was _going_ to fuck him. He was going to make Lovett come in his mouth and then spread him out and kiss him and fuck him til he was hard again. He had a whole plan.

Lovett pulls his hair again. “Tommy.”

“Jesus, alright, stop ripping my hair out.”

Lovett slides his hand down to the back of his neck, gives him a squeeze in penance. “I bought more condoms today. You can keep the extra for all the hot DC girls you’re gonna fuck after I leave.”

Tommy snorts. “Shut up, Lovett.” 

“Seriously, use protection. No one’s ready for Tommy Vietor the fifth, you have plenty of time to further the bloodline. Focus on your career.” 

Tommy bites the soft inside of his thigh for that, mutters _idiot_ against his skin. A condom packet hits his forehead and he gives Lovett another sucking kiss, next to the first, until Lovett’s kicking the mattress and saying, high-pitched, “Jesus, Tommy, don’t draw blood!” 

Tommy sits up, wiping his mouth. “Dramatic.”

“Says the fucking vampire.” Lovett fumbles for a pillow to prop himself up. “Hurry _up_ , God, I was thinking about this all day.” 

Tommy looks up at him, genuinely surprised. “You were?”

“Unemployment is boring, Tommy. Once you’ve seen a couple monuments and museums they’re really all the same. I have to entertain myself with something.”

“And that something is thinking about me fucking you? I’m flattered. My dick is more interesting than the Washington Monument.” 

Lovett rolls his eyes. “I’m starting to regret that. I think this guy was hitting on me at the Lincoln Memorial, I would’ve taken him up on it if I knew you were gonna be this annoying.”

“No one hit on you at the fucking Lincoln Memorial, you liar. That doesn’t happen.”

“He did! He asked if I wanted a private tour.” 

“He probably worked there.” Tommy’s laughing, and Lovett kicks him in the stomach. Tommy catches his foot in one hand. “He was probably, like, trying to get you on one of those Segway tours around the Mall. Did he have a helmet on?” 

Lovett wrestles his foot out of Tommy’s hand and kicks him again, but he’s snorting, still laughing when Tommy leans down to kiss his mouth, bracing himself with his elbow, letting his weight down between Lovett’s legs.

He pulls away, eyes closed from kissing, and when he opens them Lovett’s eyes are closed too, lips parted. Tommy stares at him shamelessly until Lovett blinks up at him. 

“What?” 

Tommy shrugs. There’s a lump in his throat, which is fucking stupid, and if Lovett realizes he’ll either freak out or make fun of Tommy for the rest of eternity. He swallows and touches Lovett’s cheek, gently. Too gently, apparently, because Lovett wriggles away and narrows his eyes at him. 

“ _What_?”  
  
“Nothing, god,” Tommy says, thickly. He swallows it down. “God forbid I make fucking eye contact before I put my dick inside you. Jesus.”

Lovett promptly looks away, because he’s an asshole. “Do I need to turn over?”   
  
“Shut up.” Tommy kisses him again, hard. “I like looking at you.”

“Oh, god, don’t- say shit like that.” Lovett lets out a strangled laugh. 

Tommy should shut up and fuck him but instead he asks, “Why not?” 

Lovett laughs again, the kind that means he’s uneasy. “Why are we even talking right now? Can you just-”

“Jon.” 

“Stop,” Lovett says, still laughing sourly, like a reflex. “Stop looking at me like that.” 

“Like how?” 

"You know." 

"Actually I don't. How am I looking at you? Tell me." 

Lovett looks at him, full-on, jaw set. “I’m not your fucking ex-fiance.” 

“I- I know you’re not,” Tommy says, struck dumb as always by someone mentioning her. Sometimes he forgets other people, like- know about what happened. Sometimes he forgets it exists outside of his head. 

“So don’t look at me like we share a dog and a fucking- Subaru Outback, Tommy. Look at me like I’m your pain in the ass roommate who eats all your toaster waffles.” 

“You ate my waffles?” 

“Yep. Including the gluten free ones I made fun of you for buying. They were awful, I had to like drown them in syrup.”

Tommy gapes at him. “You dick. Those were expensive.”

“I know,” Lovett says, groping at Tommy’s bare back. “I’m a dick so don’t, like, make love to me like we’re on our honeymoon or something. It’s embarrassing.” 

Tommy shoves Lovett’s legs open wider. Honeymoon. Lovett’s such an asshole. “Fuck you.” 

“I’m  _trying_.” Lovett opens his mouth to say something else but Tommy doesn’t let him, leans down to kiss him hard and punishing. Lovett sucks his tongue and scrabbles at his back with his fingernails and finally moans against Tommy’s mouth when Tommy reaches down between them with one hand. 

“There we go,” he says when Tommy breaks off, reaches over him for the lube.

“Shut the fuck up, Lovett,” Tommy says, fumbling the bottle open. His heart’s pounding. 

“Fucking make me.”

Tommy does.

\---

He wakes up with a start, only notices after a second that his pulse is racing with leftover adrenaline from the dream he’s already forgetting. He feels for his throat, tries to breathe. 

“Tommy?” Lovett says, and Tommy turns over halfway to blink at him. Lovett’s on his phone, sitting cross-legged and hunched in bed.

“Yeah,” Tommy says, dazed. He coughs.

“You have a bad dream?”

Tommy rolls onto his back, back sticking to the sheets. His A/C has truly been put through the wringer this summer and it’s starting to show. “Why are you awake?”

“I asked first.”

He’s such a shit. Tommy sighs. “It was nothing.”

“Meteor hitting earth? Nuclear fallout?”

“Shut up.” Tommy shuts his eyes. The dream’s coming back to him in unsettling bits and pieces. Lovett was there. Katie too, her face white, gnawing her fingernails. He was in the Situation Room at one point. He saw photos of something, turned face-up on the heavy wooden table, something that made him weak in the knees.

He doesn’t remember and his head’s spinning from trying to. His heart’s starting to beat fast again.

“I can’t sleep,” Lovett says. “It’s too fucking hot in here.”

Tommy opens his eyes, exhaling carefully. “I know. I need a new A/C.”

“At least LA isn’t humid. Or god, maybe it is. I haven’t even checked. But it can’t be as bad as DC, like I would have heard about it. Right?“

Tommy throws his arm over his eyes. “Jesus, can you shut up about LA for once.”

Lovett makes an offended cluck. “I’m leaving in less than a week, Tommy, like, it’s on my mind-“ 

“I know, fuck. I know.” Tommy swallows. “I know when you’re leaving. I know you need to talk about it. But just, like, not at like three fucking AM, please.”

“It’s 5 AM,” Lovett counters.  

“It’s 5 AM? Shit.” Tommy groans. “I need to get up soon. _Fuck_. I feel like I barely even slept.”

“Your hours are ungodly. Also stop whining, you sound like me. You’re supposed to be the responsible one.”

Tommy knows that. He lets out a long breath.

“Go back to sleep,” Lovett says, knee jiggling. After a minute Tommy feels a hand on his forehead, like Lovett’s checking his temperature. “You want some water?”

“Yeah, actually. Thanks.”

Lovett climbs out of bed, pads to the bathroom, and Tommy sits up in bed, watches as Lovett comes back out with a half-full glass. The glass is questionably clean and the water’s lukewarm but beggars can't be choosers. 

“Thanks, man.” 

Lovett shrugs and takes the glass from him when Tommy’s had a couple sips, takes a gulp himself. Tommy slides back down into bed, exhaling as slowly as he can.

“That’s your dirty little secret, Tommy Vietor,” Lovett says, setting the glass of water on the nightstand. “You act like you’ve got it all figured out, but you really just want someone to take care of you like a little baby. I see right through you.”  

Tommy stares at the ceiling, processing that. “I don’t have it all figured out.”

Lovett doesn’t answer, climbing back into bed. He rolls onto his side away from Tommy and Tommy reaches out to touch his hip, curves his hand around it.

 _Don’t leave_ , he wants to say. He knows it’ll cause more trouble than it’s worth and it won’t change anything but he- he still wants to. Just so Lovett like, knows.  

But Tommy’s learned how to bite his tongue. Not everyone needs to know everything he’s fucking feeling all the time. If the past year’s taught him anything it’s that.

Lovett hums and picks up Tommy’s hand, drops it on the bed. “Too hot,” he mumbles, half-asleep.

Tommy strokes the small of his back for a second with his fingers and then pulls away, fumbling for his phone. He opens his emails. 16 unread. Not so bad for 5:15AM.

“Go to sleep,” Lovett murmurs.

“I have to be in in an hour, I should just get up.” Tommy squeezes his eyes tightly shut, exhales and makes himself stand up. “Tell me you cleaned the shower drain yesterday.”

Lovett groans. “I didn’t.”

“You fucker.” Tommy rubs his hands through his hair. “I asked you like ten times.”

Lovett doesn’t respond, asleep already.

Tommy shakes his head, and kicks off his boxers.

He’s standing in ankle-deep lukewarm water, rubbing soap in his pits, when that queasy feeling from after the dream hits him again, hard in the solar plexus. He puts one hand to the wall, shuts his eyes. It’s always in the shower. He can go about his entire fucking day, no sweat, and then get in the shower and it’s like the bad parts of his brain switch back on.

He sticks his face under the spray and then turns it off with a jerk of his wrist. It’s fine. He’ll just work another day, and then another day, and then a weekend and one more day and then Lovett’s gone for good. Tommy probably won’t see him again, unless the President goes out to LA for a fundraiser and brings Tommy for some reason. Lovett’ll become a big-time TV writer, and Tommy will probably move over to the State Department at some point, and it’s not even gonna matter that he didn’t clean the stupid shower drain even though Tommy asked him a million times. None of this will matter.  

Lovett’s still asleep when Tommy gets out of the shower. He dresses quietly in the dark, fumbling his belt on, zipping his pants. He has to redo the buttons on his shirt twice but he doesn’t turn the light on.

When he’s done he kneels on the bed, bends to kiss the side of Lovett’s head. That’s another one of the stupid things he does that won’t matter in five days. It’s freeing, almost, even though it’s shitty. Tommy can do whatever he wants, be as dopey and sad as he wants, and Lovett’s still going to leave.

He lingers for a minute this morning, kisses Lovett’s jaw too, and then his soft half-open mouth when Lovett mumbles in his sleep. His phone buzzes on the dresser and he checks his watch and pushes himself up, off the bed.

“Clean the drain, _please_ ,” he says, wiping sweat off his forehead. How is it already so hot?

“Have a good day,” Lovett mutters, not lifting his head. Tommy’s struck by it anyway, pathetically flattered. It reminds him of her. She always said have a good day, and good night sleep tight, and I love you.

She said it every day up until the last and then she waited until Tommy was tucking in his shirt for work before she said, quietly from bed, wrapped in the duvet - _Tommy, we really need to talk._  

That day fucking sucked.

Tommy inhales shakily and checks his hair in the mirror. That’s another freeing thing, that he’ll never be as fucking broken as he was when she left him. Lovett leaving is just a drop in the sad-ass bucket that is Tommy’s life.

He nods at himself and leaves. The train’s sticky-hot and crowded already, but Tommy miraculously finds a seat, tips his forehead against the window and nearly dozes off.

He’s an hour into his day when his phone buzzes in his pocket.

_See it’ll be good when I leave next week. I’m a shitty roommate. I don’t even clean the shower drain_

_I asked favs to bring you Dunkins when he gets in though. So I’m not all bad_

Tommy bites his lip, rolling his chair back from his desk.

_Dunkins > clean apartment tbh. Priorities._

_FV iced latte?_

He hits send and reaches out to tap the trackpad on his laptop. The statement he was writing pops up, half-finished, just like it was when he left work yesterday. Fuck.

His phone buzzes again. 

_Of course. And a boston kreme for that sugar rush_

_Also I just cleaned the drain. Almost threw up. You’re welcome._

_You can thank me by helping me pack tonight_

Tommy sticks a fingernail in his mouth, looking up when Ben raps on the open door.

“Meeting at 8, Tommy.”

“I’ll be there.”

He glances back down at his phone.

_Fine asshole I’ll help you pack_

He hits send and sinks back into his chair, resigns himself to not finishing his statement until he gets his Dunkins. He might as well, right? He might as well help Lovett get ready to leave. He might as well help him fucking _pack_. None of this will matter. 


End file.
